


That place that you can't remember, and you can't forget.

by Little_Corners



Category: American Gods (TV)
Genre: Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-29
Updated: 2017-05-29
Packaged: 2018-11-06 11:29:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,575
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11035293
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Little_Corners/pseuds/Little_Corners
Summary: I have attempted fluff.Sweeney wants to slow dance.





	That place that you can't remember, and you can't forget.

There was a heaviness in the air of the diner that evening, the cause of which Shadow couldn’t pin down. A storm was on the horizon somewhere, but it was a good few days off yet and outside, the night still felt clear and fresh. Perhaps it was the light here. They hung low and dim, maybe in an effort to create an illusion of comfort and intimacy, but amongst the plastic red booths and greasy windows, the effect was somewhat lost. It was warm too, like they had the heating on a bit too high. It made him clammy, and his arms would occasionally stick to the table when he lent on it. He cursed Wednesday for taking so long. It was approaching three hours now, sat here in the ass end of nowhere, watching the day slowly tail off around him. Five cups of coffee, two hot chocolates and an anaemic looking piece of pie which had promised far more than it had delivered. 

Sweeney had been somewhat entertaining at least. When he’d arrived, there had been a moment of comedy as he had tried and failed to fit in to the booth opposite Shadow, a space that was only barely comfortable for one of them. Comedy for Shadow at least. Sweeney had taken it with his customary charm, swearing loudly and then pretending it hadn’t happened. He took a seat at the counter and ignored Shadow for the first hour or so, attempting to flirt with the waitress and start a fight with a meek looking man in a business suit who politely declined. He ordered beer in the absence of liquor and drank sullenly. When he eventually decided to acknowledged Shadow, it was to throw thinly veiled insults his way. Still, Shadow reflected, it was nice to have company.

As the night drew on, the other patrons began to dwindle. Shadow suspected it was never all that busy, but no doubt the giant belligerent Irishman at the counter was not helping matters. The waitress seemed to have him figured out though, sliding another beer his way whenever he raised his voice a little too loud or he fixed his gaze on someone for too long. Eventually, Sweeney seemed to a reach a comfortable level of slight drunkenness that took some of the edge off. His insults to Shadow became less frequent. He actually paid the waitress a compliment. He tipped his cap to a young couple as they left, who had obviously tried their best to slip past him unseen. Their departure left Shadow and Sweeney as the only customers. Shadow checked his watch and turned again to the window, squinting out in to the dark, but beside the flickering street lamps and sudden flare of passing headlights, there was nothing. The drink in his hand was tepid now but he couldn’t stomach another. Instead, he let his gaze fall to the bottom of the cup where the dregs of coffee rolled lazily, moving slowly this way and that as he tipped his hand. He almost convinced himself he could make out some shapes.

Some part of mind was elsewhere though, listening. Slowly, he became aware of the tug at the back of his consciousness. A song was playing in the distance, one that he knew. It sounded tinny and far way at first but as his attention slowly drifted back in to the present, he heard it clearly. Lady in Red by Chris de Burgh. _Who the fuck put this on?_ Blinking, he turned his attention back to the diner. It was empty still expect for the waitress now reading a paper near the register, and over to his right, Sweeney was dancing.

Well ‘dancing’ was too generous. Sweeney was swaying. One foot to the next, a slow rock back and forward as he leaned against the juke box. Shadow could hear him humming too, surprisingly in tune. A little amazed, he found himself turning in his seat to get a better view. Sweeney, apparently oblivious to anyone else, had his eyes close as he hummed. His swaying was clumsy but not awkward. He didn’t stumble and he clearly knew what rhythm to keep. Shadow smiled quietly.

‘Fuck you grinning at?’

Sweeney had turned and opened his eyes, but the dancing didn’t stop. The beer in his hand swung slowly too, left to right. Shadow held up his hands in mock surrender and laughed softly.

‘Nothing man, don’t mind me.’

Sweeney grunted and took a swig. The dancing proceeded unhurriedly, although with slightly more hip and little more dip, Shadow noted with a smile.

‘This here is a classic. Fucking asshole.’

‘I’ll have to take your word for it.’

Sweeney eyed him suspiciously, one thick brow raised, although Shadow could see the hint of a grin there too.

‘He’s part Irish’ he said matter-of-factly, gesturing to the juke box. ‘Reminds me of….reminds me of…’ But he didn’t finish, waving his hand languidly in the air and swaying on silently, his eyes somewhere elsewhere. Shadow felt like he should turn away again, but there was something soft and calm here that he couldn’t quite disengage from. Sweeney was smiling gently to himself, his movements becoming steadier, still humming as the music began to fade. The low buzz of the lights seemed to finally match the mood. Shadow watched him quietly until the song ended. Sweeney finished with a flourish, downing the last of the beer in one and already moving back to the juke box.

‘Now, I bet you didn’t know this fucker was part Irish too.’

Sweeney plucked a coin from behind his ear. The juke box clicked and whirred. Shadow waited, and then a puzzled look passed over his face. The song was Secret Garden.

‘Bruce Springsteen? Is part Irish?’

Sweeney was smiling triumphantly.

‘I know. American as they come, but it’s there. Fuck, nearly half the assholes on this continent are part Irish, or like to say they are. Everyone wants a homeland…’

He went to take another drink, realised it was an empty, made a face and tossed the bottle in to a nearby booth. Shadow glanced hesitantly back to the counter but the waitress didn’t look up. Maybe she hadn’t heard him. Maybe she was ignoring him. Either way, he was swaying again, slower this time but a little more sure of himself now. As Shadow watched, he realised he was edging closer.

‘Come here.’

Shadow baulked, laughing again but not sure why.

‘Er… no man, I’m ok.’

‘Don’t be a knob, come here.’

‘I’m not dancing.’

Sweeney was looking at him under hooded eyes and a determined, if unfocused, look on his face.

‘Get up.’

Sweeney was nearly at his table, rocking slowly, his mouth curled in a messy smile. A large hand grabbed Shadow’s wrist. It was still surprising how strong he was.

‘Hey, can we just… I don’t know…sit?’

‘Shut the fuck up.’

Shadow staggered to his feet, bumping face first in to Sweeney’s broad chest. He tried to regain his balance but Sweeney still had his wrist. It was clear he wasn’t letting go until he knew Shadow wouldn’t try to escape.

‘Relax’ Sweeney said in a low drawl, his eye’s half closed. ‘Just….. stay.’

Shadow sighed, but was already feeling himself begin to relax. Had he been this tense all evening? He hadn’t thought so. But he could feel the muscles in his shoulders slowly unwind, the knots beginning to melt. It felt good to let it go, for a moment at least. There was something about being this close to Sweeney, one of very few man who was capable of making Shadow feel small. It was not a sensation he was used to, but here and now, it was not a wholly uncomfortable one. Sensing his resignation, Sweeney loosened his grip but didn’t move his hand. Shadow didn’t either. And in spite of himself, he began to sway too.

It was quiet now expect for the music; even the hum of the lights seemed to have died away. Sweeney had closed his eyes, humming fragments, his head hanging low and Shadow feeling something approaching peaceful. Sweeney shuffled forward a touch and Shadow found himself coming to rest under the other man’s chin. He could feel the roughness of his beard against his scalp, and slow, deep breathing. It was not quite an embrace. Apart from their heads and where Sweeney’s fingers still lingered on his wrist, they were not touching. But tucked there against Sweeney’s collarbone, breathing in warmth and the faint smell of beer, he felt… safe. Yes, that was close enough. As they continued to sway gently, he flexed his hand against Sweeney’s, brushing along the length of it, testing the boundary. Sweeney responded silently, lacing their fingers together.  

And then the song was over, and the juke box clicked and whirred, and the sound came slowly back in to the diner. The two of them pulled away at the same time, space opening up between them, their fingers the last thing to part. They both smiled. They both nodded. And then Sweeney turned away and wandered back to the counter, and Shadow returned to the booth and his cold coffee and that was how Wednesday found them when he came in. Later, in the car, while Sweeney dozed in the back and Wednesday snored with his feet up on the dashboard, Shadow began to hum.

**Author's Note:**

> As a side note, I only picked Secret Garden because it came on the radio while I was writing this and now I'm kind of stuck at how well some of the lyrics fit with the mood I was going for so I would like to take this opportunity to thank Bruce Springsteen for obviously preemptively writing this for me. Cheers Bruce.


End file.
